


When Indifference Comes Back to Bite You

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finch whump, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Pain, Seizures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Set after 4C - In this variant, John had gone and returned but Harold never went to Italy. Instead John has taken some time on his own and done some soul searching before agreeing to meet with Finch to discuss whether they have a future together after the loss of Jocelyn "Joss" Carter. Things don't even get off the ground before tragedy strikes again...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had an issue lately with writer's block on most of my other stories. I have no intention of abandoning any of them and as much as I dislike having so many out there floating around, I'm adding yet another to the growing list. Please bear with me and I greatly appreciate everyone's patience as I try and work through it.  
> As always, my thanks go to oddgit for the beta work and for being there with me through my small issues while dealing with her own troubles... You're the best my very good friend!  
> Each and every comment is greatly appreciated, anyone who writes has to admit that they do it in a large part for the kudos and encouragement they get from readers like you! So please feel free to comment often! Good or bad, it all counts! Thank you all!  
> Lastly - I have no knowledge whatsoever in the field of medicine, if it sounds good, great! It's all made up!

Finch and Reese stood inside a large hotel suite, looking out through the open window, enjoying the perfect view of Central Park, enhanced by a clear blue sky and mid-afternoon sunshine radiating through the trees. John had met Harold to discuss their future together. 

More specifically, whether or not they had a future together. That absolute certainty had become indeterminate after the loss of their greatest, most beloved asset and dearest friend, Jocelyn Carter. Joss had died in John’s arms while Harold stood witness to the whole horrific event in absolute and total shock.

John had gone off the rails and disappeared after that fateful night, forcing Harold to try and take over everything in his absence. Harold knew that John was grieving and re-evaluating whether or not to go on with their mission… but he couldn’t ignore the numbers while John took a sabbatical to figure things out for himself. 

Harold was grieving too, but his conscience couldn’t allow him take the time needed to go through the all consuming and arduous process of healing, so he attempted to push it aside. The numbers would never stop coming and Harold would be there for them as long as he was able. There was nothing else he could do but try and lose himself in their mission and attempt to move forward. 

John had agreed to meet Harold face to face to deliver his decision and Harold waited nervously to hear his choice. 

He took his time and Harold didn’t push as they both stood quietly and watched people outside the window... the displays of affection and happiness they were viewing below as ordinary people went about their lives. They longed for the same simplicity and joy that they were unable to acquire in their own lives. 

John turned toward his partner and Harold followed the move, turning towards John in return. As he began to tell Harold what he had decided, just on the edge of his vision John saw the bright red laser dot of a sniper rifle in the middle of his chest. 

At the exact same instant, Harold saw it too and put himself squarely in the path of the deadly projectile… shoving John out of the way. John heard the unmistakable sound of the air being forced from Harold’s lungs as the impact of the round penetrated his body. Fear and shock immediately gripped John's soul.

“Finch!” Harold had taken the high caliber bullet to his lower back. 

He fell against John heavily, slumping into his grasp, clinging on to John’s upper arms desperately, instinctively and in the end futiley as he tried to stay on his feet. 

John couldn’t do anything but lower his wounded partner down to the floor as gently as he could, propping him up against the wall next to the window and out of the gunman’s line of sight. “Harold… why the hell did you do that?!” John exclaimed and hurriedly ducked under the windowsill next to him. 

John knew that the deadly round would surely have pierced his heart and killed him instantly had it not been for Harold’s swift actions. He hated that his partner had put himself in harm’s way for him and wished with his entire being that he could have prevented it. 

As Harold sat there with sharp pain wracking his body and attempting to get his ragged breathing under control from the initial shock, he could feel the anxiety and alarm radiating off of his partner in waves. “John…” he winced for a moment, then as John looked into his eyes Harold smiled as best he could and tried to calm his worried partner, “Shh…It’s alright.” Sweat was beading on Harold’s brow and John shook his head in aggravated disbelief.

“Damn it, Finch.” he admonished the older man but his words had no bite to them. “I’m the one who’s supposed to take the hit, not you.”

As Harold took in the tired and haggard appearance of his partner, melancholy washed over him, “What makes you always believe you’re so dispensable?” he asked somberly.

“That’s what you hired me for, remember?” he replied and lifted Harold’s jacket to get a look at where the entry point was and cringed at what was underneath.

“No… that’s most definitely not what I hired you for John.” Harold replied adamantly and clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes for a moment as he took a deep pained breath. 

John didn’t reply, he just swallowed the lump in his throat as his mind raced with fear. Fear of losing the one person he had left to him in the world from a bullet that was meant for him. He couldn’t talk as it dawned on him cruelly that Harold would most likely die right here in front of him while there wasn’t anything he could do about it but watch. Another precious life on his hands because he failed to protect him too.

“The rules have changed…” Harold stated obstinately and grinned into John’s eyes. “I don’t consider you disposable John… I have never thought that of you.” It took every ounce of Harold’s vast willpower to school his expression as he tried to hide just how much pain he was in. But John wasn’t stupid. It was obvious that his partner was in extreme distress, he wasn’t fooling anyone. 

“I hope you realize that John… you’ve always been necessary... and valued. You do understand that don’t you?” Harold tried to read the expression on John’s face but unlike himself, John could hide his emotions much better than he ever could. “Please tell me so John.” 

Harold watched his partner keenly as he kneeled at the windowsill. John turned away and from him, and scanned the buildings across the street, trying to get a look at where the shot would have to have originated before sitting back against the wall next to him, anxious and deep in thought. 

John’s heart raced as the seconds ticked by at a snail’s pace, they had to move fast. He turned towards Harold who sat propped against the wall, blood oozing and trickling from the hole in his back steadily, painting a gory streak of red along the wall behind him. His eyes were closed now and John could tell he was trying to concentrate on regulating his breathing which was becoming labored and erratic. John knew he had to act quickly or he would lose his stubborn partner. 

There was no way of knowing if the sniper was one lone individual or a member of a group of hired assassins and he was acutely aware of how deadly the situation they now found themselves in.

“Finch?” he asked gently as he loosened his partners tie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. He put his fingertips against Harold’s throat to check his pulse rate. It was weak and thready and John noticed that his skin was cool and clammy to the touch. He knew instantly what the signs were beginning to indicate and was dreading what would soon follow.

He cracked his eyes open and regarded John with a worn, frail expression. Harold looked as though he’d aged ten years in the last two minutes. 

John’s heart literally ached for him, “Harold, why didn’t you just…?” John couldn’t finish the question. He wanted to ask why he’d bothered to save him again after all he’d put him through recently, why did he want him back, why didn’t he just let things happen the way they were meant to… but he knew Harold would argue and belabor the point and he needed all the strength he had for the time ahead. 

Harold would try to convince him that he has every right to live just the same as everyone else on the planet has. But John believed in his heart that it wasn’t true. He didn’t have the same rights that other people have anymore. He’d been an obedient and unquestioning killer at one time, and doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air that so many good people do. 

Death follows him everywhere… first Jessica, then Joss… and now it seemed Harold would soon follow suit. It seemed that his partner may have to experience the ugly truth about him up close and personal and the truth was a cruel and heart wrenching bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

John never dreamed he’d still be alive today after being marked for death by the agency and being gravely wounded and on the run. When that wasn’t enough to kill him… when he learned that he’d lost Jessica… that knowledge alone should have been enough to do the job. He’d never considered suicide outright but living on the streets, he looked for and welcomed death. He’d wanted to die and he would have had it not been for Harold stepping in at the right moment and saving him from himself. 

Now, it killed John to even contemplate his life without Harold in it. He’d been absolutely lost and floundering once again, after Joss died. 

It took him some hard thinking but he finally realized that he’d been wrong all along to be so cross and critical towards Harold. He was ashamed for the thoughtless barbed comments and accusations that had been aimed at him while he was stuck on that damn plane working Owen Mathew’s case. Harold was no more at fault in the grand scheme of things than he was… and neither was the Machine. 

And then it finally dawned on him… he realized that he hadn’t really been lost after all, because Harold knew exactly where he was. Harold understood before he even realized it himself, what he needed was the time and space to understand what he desired above everything else. The thing he needed without question was the man and the job that he’d left behind. Harold would always be ready and willing to accept him back and welcome him home again, no questions asked. Harold had been his beacon of hope from the start; he was always there to light the way home and tried to ensure that John would never feel lost again… until now.

If he were to lose Harold, it would be the last straw… the final event necessary to push him back into oblivion and the end of him for sure. 

“Why couldn’t you just…?” John started again without success. He sat there and watched his partner struggle with his words as the pain intensified by the second, robbing him of the ability to speak without monumental effort. 

“I’m sorry, John… I couldn’t let you play the hero again, not this time.” Harold finally replied and chuckled at the look of incredulity on John’s face. “You’d have done the same… and you know it,” he stated as casually as he could manage, and continued to grin while the sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

John shook his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, Mister Finch,” he derided his partner teasingly and shook his head, doing his best to return Harold’s apparent ease at their life threatening state of affairs.

Harold looked at John for a moment in surprise and then profound amusement came over his face. He smiled at his stalwart partner, “You called me Mister…” he announced in as much of a show of delight as he could muster. “You’ve never… called me that before,” he laughed ironically. “Finally… after all this time.”

The gesture John made was enough to momentarily cut through the mounting pain for a very short and much appreciated instant, until the small respite was overrun and he found himself becoming light headed.

“Yeah, how about that…” John countered absently as he looked over the site of the entry wound that had passed through his clothes and now coated the outside of Harold's jacket with blood. He swallowed his concern and tried to put his most convincing unworried “look” on.

It was clear, he had to get the hemorrhaging under control or Harold would bleed out. The wound was large and the bullet had lodged somewhere inside Harold’s torso, having probably been deflected by something internally when it tore through his flesh and stopped short of exiting. 

John could only pray that he’d be able to get Harold the help he needed in time to save him before it was too late and his chance at redemption was lost forever. 

“Finch, I’m sorry but I need you to lay on your side.” John looked around the room frantically for something to stint the blood flow while keeping his head down. The gunman hadn’t taken another shot since the first destructive one and they couldn’t be sure what happened to him or where he’d gone. Hell, they weren’t even sure how many snipers there were but they had to stay out of sight.

John felt intense guilt and fear threatening to overwhelm him. His selfishness and obstinacy may have just cost him the life of the most important person he had left to him in the world. 

God, how could he have be so stupid? He couldn’t let this happen, not now! Not when Harold had gone out of his way to meet him here and rescue him from himself, yet again... John always knew that his partner would come for him and now Harold might have to pay the ultimate price for that dogged devotion and determination. 

“Finch…” John took his injured partner’s hand in his, “Harold, you’re going to be okay.” He could see the pain in Harold’s face and his heart constricted in his chest as he watched the energy seeping out of his gravely injured body. “Come on,” he prompted his weakening partner and took him by the shoulders to guide him over onto his side, taking the majority of his weight “Just lay down… I’ve got you.”

Harold couldn’t find it in him to speak at the moment, all he could manage was a groan of protest at the painful movement and he could feel the life-force draining out of him. Tears of regret came to his eyes from the thought of leaving John alone in the world again. He squeezed John’s hand as tightly as he could manage in response to his kindness and tried with every ounce of resolve he possessed to stay conscious. 

Harold knew he had to focus and fight, body and soul, if they were both to get out of this situation alive. He couldn’t allow John to give up third time, it would kill him for sure. 

After Jessica, and more recently Joss, he knew it would be the end of John. Harold had to make it through this. If he were to die on John now, he may as well put a gun to his head and pull the trigger himself. He wasn’t going to allow it to happen. If he had any choice in the matter whatsoever, he wouldn’t let John down again.

Harold coughed and the agony from the action hit him hard. He winced and gasped through the pain and he could feel the warmth of blood bubbling up from the wound, soaking further into his pale blue dress shirt and charcoal waistcoat. John quickly took his own jacket off and crawled over the floor on hands and knees and reached for the comforter and bed-sheets that were a few feet away and pulled them off and laid them to the side for now. 

John looked at his partner and had to choke back a sob. The older man’s body was beginning to tremble from the trauma it was undergoing and he was losing the ability to focus on his surroundings. John could see it in his partner’s eyes… lucidity and awareness was starting to leave him. Harold was showing the early signs of shock and it scared the hell out of the former op.

He dialed Shaw and cursed the time it was taking for her to answer. On the fourth ring she picked up, “Yeah…” she answered in her usual irritable manner.

“Harold’s been shot in the back,” John replied without preamble. “We don’t have any time. He needs blood and a trauma kit immediately; the bullet's still in there. We’re hunkered down with at least one sniper still posing a threat.”

“I’m on it!” Shaw replied quickly, immediately picking up on John’s worry and agitation. "I'll get the GPS from your phone."

She instinctively understood that their situation wasn’t good, “I’ll have Root talk to the Machine and find out who’s still out there. She and Lionel can take care of that end of things and I’ll get Tillman and Enright if I can and be on the way with an ambulance right away.” Shaw maintained a steady façade as always but inside she was worked up. 

Sameen had never had much use for most people throughout her life but Harold and her teammates had worked their way into her heart and were now as close to family as she’d ever had. She’d be damned if she lost any one of them while she had any say about it… that wasn’t going to happen.

“John?” she probed as gently as her sociopathic self could manage while she texted Root on a burner phone and waited.

“It’s bad, Shaw…” John answered her unspoken question knowingly, “hurry...”


	3. Chapter 3

At the moment, John couldn’t think of anything worse than the situation they now found themselves in.

Being held up in a hotel suite and not knowing who or what they were facing from the outside was one thing… Blindly agreeing to meet Finch at a location that he didn’t have any information on or even the layout of the place was entirely something else.

He’d ignored his instincts. He’d let himself get sloppy and cursed himself for being a fool. He should have gone by the book and insisted they meet somewhere he knew of in advance and only after he’d had the time and opportunity to check the location out beforehand and make sure it was safe.

And then, on top of all that was that neither one of them had bothered to take the time to tell anyone else where they could be found or even when they could be expected to be heard from again.

They had both become lazy and overconfident with the self-assured and erroneous notion that they had experience behind them, that they were skilled and adept enough now that they needn’t worry too much about being in danger anymore. This was a hard lesson that John would especially come to regret. He would be made to see and hear his poor partner undergo relentless pain without the ability to help him.

John’s hands were tied, he decided that even if he could get Harold moved to the bed it wouldn’t make his condition any better. There was nothing he could do for him medically but try to stint the blood loss and hope like hell that help arrived in time.

John had no idea where the gunman was and the open layout of the suite would give a sniper plenty of space to get to them back in his crosshairs if they moved away from wall.

The window dressings were useless as cover in the large airy room. The sheer white panels would not be adequate enough to obscure them from view by a shooter on the outside taking shots at them. Anyone with the vantage point and skill to get such an accurate read on them from somewhere across the street and through the window was skilled enough to get eyes on them through the useless decorative hangings. That undisputed information was enough for John to keep them pinned down exactly where they were, he would take no additional risks this day with his partner’s life. Harold was in enough danger from his condition as it was.

Hell… moving Harold might be the wrong thing to do anyway. He had no idea where the bullet ended up, and jostling him around could dislodge the projectile and make things worse. As much as he hated the indignity of letting Harold remain on the floor, the cavalry was on its way and John had to trust that Shaw and the doctors would get there before it was too late.  
#

John sat desolately and watched Harold for a moment while he got priorities in order. He looked on at his poor partner who laid there so stoically with his eyes squeezed tight, fisting his hands while he fought through the pain and could tell that he was trying his best to be quiet. But it was impossible for him to prevent the unconscious moans and other sounds of agony leaving his mouth.

All John could really offer in support was his presence and that was a very small consolation. Guilt threatened to eat him alive as he watched his gentle partner being made to lay on the floor while his body twitched with pain. John stroked his hand over Harold’s sweat dampened hair and tried to soothe him, “It’s going to be alright… Shaw’s on the way with Megan. Just hold on, Finch… please hold on.”

Harold was vaguely aware that in addition to John speaking, though he couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying, he was also hearing what could only be described as… _sounds of profound human suffering,_ but he couldn’t distinguish where it was coming from. He felt very sorry for whoever was going through their ordeal and he wished with all his heart that he could help them.

His focus was momentarily and cruelly pulled away as white hot lances of pain shot through his mid-section, originating from his lower back and radiating throughout the entire left side of his ribcage and into his abdomen. What new hell had he found himself in now?

There, he heard the noises again distantly and tried to concentrate away from his own misery, to pinpoint the murmurings of distress, he tried hard to focus on them, to distinguish who or what was making them but they were unrecognizable. Then… at last, with overwhelming embarrassment, he realized the sounds were coming from his own lips.

He was mortified but the anguish he was undergoing was too unbearable to be silent through and was quickly escalating beyond his ability to think clearly.

Harold took in large inhalations desperately as the pain was now so severe it threatened to pull the air from his lungs. It was pushing him to his limits and beyond. He was cold suddenly and his heart hammered in his chest while his head spun.

He cried out until he was too weak from fighting the pain to do anything more than lay there and breathe heavily as his body began to tremble.

John was beside himself having to witness the unjust reality of misery and woe that Harold was being subjected to. It was laid right out in front of him, punishing him as he was being forced to watch. “I’m here Finch… Shh. I’m here.” John choked and took Harold’s fisted hand between his, opening it up and interlacing their fingers; he squeezed the cold limb firmly trying to give his partner something else to focus on, an anchor to grasp on to.

Harold latched on and few moments later, he calmed down a little bit and seemed to come back to his senses. He looked at John through bleary, watery eyes, “I’m sorry…” he stated quietly and could tell that John was fretful and confused by his assertion. “I’m… not at my best right now,” he added weakly and tried to smile.

“There’s not a damn thing to apologize for,” John replied soberly, he took a deep breath and moved forward. “Listen Harold, I have to get to the wound. I have to get the bleeding under control. That’s our top priority right now, understand?” John explained with as much hope and drive as he could muster, he had to get Harold invested in making it through the agony and coming out alive. As he did so he made to remove Harold’s jacket as quickly but gently as he could. “Are you ready?”

Harold looked at him and nodded while John helped him turn his upper body just enough to pull the jacket down his shoulders and almost off. “Ah…!” Harold cried out as the unfamiliar movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through his back and abdomen.

”I’m sorry Harold.” John quickly finished removing the ruined garment as Harold panted through the rest of the effort. John couldn’t help but see the gory reminder of Harold’s state by the soiled jacket as well as the bloody streak along the wall behind him. He fought back the urge to retch from the wrongness of it all.

Harold’s teeth chattered and John knew that blood loss was leeching the warmth from his body. He needed to hurry to finish his assessment and stop the bleeding, then he could work on getting Harold warmed up.

“I’m so sorry…” John tried to soothe the older man as much as he could and rolled up his own jacket to put under Harold’s head. “I know you’re uncomfortable in this position but it’s the best way for me to get a better look so we can try to see what we’re up against. Then I’ll get you patched up and more comfortable.”

The angle was not ideal for his back or his bum leg but that was the least of his troubles so he couldn’t complain. He swallowed thickly, “I understand, John. Please … let’s just be done with it.”

John was able to reach a bottle of water nearby and held it to Harold’s lips, “Here, drink.” he tipped it so a small amount went into his mouth while some dripped down the side of his face and onto the floor. Harold smiled at his anxious partner, “Thank you…” he replied softly and looked into John’s sad eyes, “it’s going to be alright.”

John smiled in return and nodded, hoping to convey his heartfelt hope and desire that Harold was correct.

Next, John took a deep breath and started unbuttoning the waistcoat, all the while trying to reel in and tamp down his emotions. The fear and hopelessness of the dire situation Harold now faced made him angry as well as feel wretched. The realization that he had no control over anything, not even the ability to offer him any small respite was eating him alive.

Thick, viscous blood had spread and soaked into the vest turning it much darker than it had been originally. The garment felt heavy in John’s hands, further proof that he didn’t have any time to lose and John was sick with worry. When he pulled it open to reveal the dress shirt beneath, John’s heart literally ached at the sight.

Almost the entire light colored shirt was saturated with Harold’s lifeblood, turning it to a grotesque shade of crimson. He hid his emotions behind his determination, he didn’t want Harold to see the fear in his eyes.

John took a calming breath, knowing that what he was about to see was one of his worst nightmares come to life.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.” Harold closed his eyes and nodded again in acquiescence as John unbuttoned his dress shirt and carefully pulled it out from the waistband of his trousers.

“Jesus, Finch…” John remarked absently. The tear in Harold’s blood saturated undershirt, at the site of entry, was very large and John suspected that a piece of cloth could very well have gone in with the bullet. He shook his head and he felt tears come to his eyes. Harold was in bad shape and he knew it.

“That good huh?” Finch replied with a small grin while John glared at him in return. “Well, I always said… sooner or later…”

“Harold stop.” John bit out angrily, “Don’t even go there.”

“Your… bedside manner leaves something to be desired John,” Harold teased him casually then looked John in the eyes and his mood turned somber. “I’m just glad it was me.”

John shook his head, “I’m not.” He replied sadly.

Harold’s breathing was starting to become an issue again and he was beginning to shake uncontrollably. “John, its cold… I’m cold,” he stated through chattering teeth then suddenly his whole body shuddered violently.

He was going into full on shock. John clenched his jaw and ripped the undershirt open, using his knife to hurry up and finish the job… He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he got eyes on the wound.


	4. Chapter 4

The sight of torn and mangled flesh at the point of entry in Harold’s lower back, was suddenly an unwelcome and haunting reminder of a portion of John’s time in the service. A flurry of unbidden memories come crashing in on him. Memories of men he’d helped rescue out of combat zones that had been wounded terribly, many being killed outright by destructive high caliber rounds that could penetrate body armor. 

He wasn’t trained as a medic, but sometimes in his line of work it paid to educate yourself on some vital knowledge you might need to survive certain trauma, like gunshot wounds. 

Most of the wounds he’d had experience with had been fatal. Not necessarily from the injuries themselves… but from blood loss. The time it took to get an injured man as close to stabilized as possible and back to base was very often too long. 

He and his fellow soldiers did what they could at the time to treat and pack the wounds in effort to stop the bleeding on many soldiers in the field and the memories of those times were tough to take. He’d made it a point to avoid finding out what happened to the men he’d tried to help for fear of learning that he hadn’t done enough and they died anyway. That was not something he wanted to know or to have to live with. 

One of the first men he’d tried to help had been shot four times before John came across him and did what he could to patch him up and loaded on a chopper headed back to base. 

As soon as he’d returned from a mission two days afterwards, he went to check in on the young guy. John had talked him through the trauma of being shot and scared out of his mind and asked him his name and kept him talking all the way to the transport. 

His name was Patrick Thomas, fresh out of college. He was a farm-boy from Iowa, a really sweet kid that he’d been sure was going to make it, that he’d gotten there in time. He dropped his gear and ran over to the hospital to see him… only to learn that he’d bled out just moments after they’d gotten him there. He wasn’t ready for that and it was almost too much for him to handle at the time. 

He realized that was the moment that he’d tried to turn his emotions off. He would never let himself feel like that again… until now. 

He felt tears come to his eyes from the memory of that poor kid bleeding out and losing his life. It had taken a lot to get through and now he was afraid that he was going to have put his gentle partner in the same category. Another man that didn’t get the help he needed in time… another man he couldn’t save.  
#

Blood trickled steadily from Harold’s horrific wound with every beat of his racing heart with no signs of slowing or clotting… John’s hands were shaking. He berated and chastised himself. He couldn’t let his mind go there, he wasn’t going to lose Harold like he’d lost Patrick he just couldn’t. 

“John?” Harold called out, rousing him from his horrible memories. “Are you there?”

“I’m here Harold.” John leaned over so that his partner could see him better.

“You never... gave me your answer.” Harold whispered and tried to take another difficult breath, John held his hand tightly, not trusting his own voice at the moment. Harold was looking at John determinedly. “Please say… you’ve come back.” He rasped.

John could plainly see the anguish in Harold’s eyes, it was becoming harder for him speak. He could hear the wetness in his partner’s lungs and his heart was breaking. “I’ve done a lot of thinking Finch. I was an idiot for blaming you and the Machine for what happened to Joss and everything else and I’m so sorry.” Harold winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please... say the words.” He entreated him, wheezing with the effort.

“Yes Harold, yes I’m back for good, just Hang on.” John took the bottle of water and soaked a portion of one of the sheets that he’d cut up to serve as a cleaning implement. “I just want to clean up the blood that’s drying around the wound so we can get some kind of dressing on it to stop the bleeding, alright?” 

Harold didn’t say anything; he just watched John through his already bleary and now shaky eyesight and nodded with a pleased expression on his pale face as relief washed over him. The numbers would at least have the Machine’s primary asset to watch over them.

Harold was freezing now and could only whisper, “I’m cold…” through his teeth. He was trying to keep them from chattering and was biting down hard, he tasted blood in his mouth but he couldn’t care less. 

He could feel himself being drawn away from the scene of the room, could feel his mind getting hazy and his thoughts were becoming jumbled. He was somehow aware that he was losing his grip on reality. “This is…isn’t… good…” he whispered. 

As much as it pained him to do it, John pulled Harold’s soiled shirt together and quickly buttoned up the first few buttons at the top of the garment then pulled the comforter over and threw it around Harold’s shivering upper body. He leaned over close to hear what Harold was saying, “I’m sorry, Finch. I didn’t hear you...” Harold closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to speak at volume at the moment. John tucked the plush material snugly around his shoulders and arms and rubbed them briskly through the thick material for a few seconds to help with circulation and get some blood flowing back into his arms. 

He left Harold’s mid-section exposed, cringing from the coolness of his skin. He had to get something over the bloody wound and stop it immediately. He looked at his watch, it had been almost ten minutes since Harold had been shot and five since he’d talked to Shaw. 

They were looking at least forty-five agonizing minutes before Harold would have any proper treatment. He just had to do his best. He looked at the wet portion of sheet and thought better of it. The water was cold and Harold was already freezing. He dearly wanted to use hot water to clean the wound so as not to increase the chills that he was already dealing with.

“I’ve got to get in the master bath, Finch. I want some hot water to clean the area and I need the towels. I’ll be back in just a minute.” John didn’t wait for a reply, Harold didn’t seem to hear him anymore as he laid there with his eyes closed. He took a chance and peeked through the window from the side, keeping himself as shielded as possible. He decided he had to chance it. 

He looked over at his partner once more. He felt terrible for the misery he was seeing… and then Harold opened his eyes and found his. John could tell he wanted to say something but couldn’t manage to speak. He smiled at John instead, unnerving him with his calm demeanor. But John could see it in his partner’s eyes. Harold was dying. 

John swallowed down his dread with great difficulty before he reminded him, “I’ll be back in a minute,” he stated, “hold on for me Finch… please…” Harold nodded and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

John looked once more outside and still didn’t see anyone; he got down low onto the floor and crawled along the carpet on his hands and knees until he got inside the large master bathroom. He stood up quickly and turned on the lights. 

John was extremely grateful to see a fully stocked butler’s pantry adjacent to it. The alcove not only contained a full sized coffee pot, but a water kettle for tea as well as a small refrigerator that was supplied with a variety of bottled water. 

The hot water would at least come in useful to help clean up the wound, while lessening the chance of sending more chills through Harold’s already overtaxed body. 

But the best thing he found by far was a top of the line first aid kit under the dual vanity. Leave it to Finch to ensure that wherever John could be found, trouble might very well follow. If Harold wasn’t in such a dire physical state, he’d laugh at his judicious partner’s penchant for keeping all of his residences fully stocked up on medical supplies wherever they went, no matter how large or small. 

The fairly large canvas medical bag was the best available and it contained everything he’d need to clean and pack the wound to get the blood loss under control as well as he possibly could. Then he could get Harold patched up until Shaw arrived with the doctors. 

He had a modicum of hope rise in him briefly as he gathered everything together and put it back in the bag. The only regretful thing about the supplies was that there was no anesthetic, no pain killer whatsoever. John knew that Harold almost never carried his own pain killers with him. He only took them on especially grueling days when he’d had to be out in the field and overexerted himself. 

He started filling up both pots with clean water and suddenly heard Harold coughing faintly from the other room. Not a good sign. He finished up and hurriedly plugged the appliances into the wall socket to start the heating process. He grabbed the bandaging supplies and lowered himself back to the floor, crawling back to his partner as quickly as he could. 

When he got to him Harold had blood running down his chin and John’s heart sank. He’d finally slowed his coughing but he was now breathing rapidly, the gurgling sound coming from his lungs was wet and John once again felt dread creep into him.

“Oh God… Harold.” John wiped Harold’s pale face off with a damp cloth and felt his carotid artery again. His skin was damp and too cold and his heart was racing irregularly under John’s fingertips as he lay there trembling. John shook his head, helpless to do anything really but try and comfort him as he continued to fight through the misery he was going through. 

Harold blinked his eyes open, unfocused, and tried to make out the shapes around him. His vision was blurred and he didn’t know where he was. Then his expression turned to one of contemplation and he spoke softly, quietly, “It’s a tangle… of improbabilities.” He stated feebly while his body trembled, as if he were in the midst of a conversation, answering some unknown question. 

John watched him nervously and pulled the comforter snugly around his upper body, hesitant to leave his side even for a moment while he was in this state. “Finch, I’m back now, I’ve got to get to the bleeding under control.” John stated and went about pulling the necessary items out from the bag.

“I’ve… killed him…” Harold gasped out anxiously and writhed in utter despair. “I’ve killed… he's dead… God, help me…. I’ve killed him.” 

John’s heart constricted in his chest at the sheer desperation in Harold’s voice. He was delirious and agitated and absolutely convinced that he’d killed someone. 

The outcome was a forgone conclusion now. The indications of him coughing up blood turned toward a possible punctured lung in addition to severe shock and John could do nothing to stop the agony or save his life if that were the case. If Shaw didn’t get there within the next few minutes with the right gear… Harold was dead for sure… he would drown in his own fluids if he didn't bleed out first.

“No Finch…” John choked out and grabbed his partner’s flailing hand, “You haven’t killed anyone. Calm down I’ve got you please Finch… you have to calm down!” 

“Finch?” Harold stilled and repeated weakly, he took a shallow breath. He cringed from the effort, “Finch…?” he repeated again softly as wonder crossed his face and he peered ahead of himself unfocused, reflecting on the word that left his lips as if he didn’t remember what it meant.

“Yeah, Finch, it’s me, John. Please hold on for just a little while longer,” he pleaded.

Harold suddenly began to panic, “I can’t stop now… I’m sorry,” he started frantically, painfully, while he tried to pull air into his lungs, “I’m sorry… for everything.” He gasped and closed his eyes, wincing as he started coughing again. And then everything seemed to be much more urgent. Blood trickled from his lips once more and John had reached the end of his rope. 

Sniper be damned, he stood up and ran for the bathroom to get what he needed to cover Harold’s wounds. There hadn’t been a shot as he made his way there. He took that as a good sign and hurried back to his partner with towels and the kettle of hot water.

He fell to his knees and soaked the first hand towel almost burning himself on the scalding liquid. He rung it out and waved it through the air to take a portion of the immense heat out of it before he, as gently as he could manage, wiped and dabbed at the coagulated and dried blood from around the injury, cleaning it as best he could so the adhesive tape would stick to Harold’s skin when he applied the bandages. 

Harold didn’t seem to notice what was happening at all as John worked diligently and as quickly as he could. He’d gone almost still and quieted but for the frightening sound emanating from his lungs as he struggled to breathe. The rasping noise almost made John sick as he contemplated what it might mean if Shaw didn’t hurry up and get there fast. 

John tried to soothe his partner and himself, “Shaw’s coming… and she’s bringing Megan and Maddie, you remember them…” John took a deep breath and went on, “and they’re going to fix you up and then we’re going to get back to work…” He worked as quickly as he could to get finished, trying to remove as much of his own emotions from the scene playing out as he could. It was impossible and he felt his chest tightening as he watched the blood continuing to seep steadily from the horrible gaping wound.

He looked at his watch again hurriedly. He dabbed and wiped at the last of the gory remnants around the wound. Harold remained mostly quiet but for the terrible wet sound and the murmuring of something John couldn’t identify. Fifteen agonizing minutes since Harold had been shot and John was beginning to lose hope as his partner’s condition steadily declined.


	6. Chapter 6

John took a second to wipe the blood that dribbled from Harold’s mouth again. It was a punishing reminder of how bad things were as he lay there on the floor so helpless… so vulnerable.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, it was too much and he felt his heart breaking in his chest from the impotence he felt within the situation. He shook himself again. Now was not the time to lose it, he had to get Harold through this. He pulled out his phone again.

“Shaw, how far out are you?!” He was desperate and Sameen could hear it in his voice as clear as day.

“Doctor Enright and I are in a bus. Tillman is meeting us there. We’re probably twenty minutes out.” Shaw stated quickly.

“He doesn’t have that long, Shaw,” John snapped back angrily.

“Calm down, John. Tell me what’s happening.” Doctor Enright had taken Shaw’s phone and put it on speaker while Shaw stepped harder on the gas pedal.

John laid his phone on the floor while he applied a large amount of gauze over the hole in Harold’s back and unwrapped a large pressure bandage to place over it. He held his hand against it to see if it would be effective enough to stop the bleeding before he applied the tape.

“He’s having a hard time breathing. He has bloody froth coming from his mouth. The bullet may have penetrated a lung and he’s fucking bleeding out!” John shouted angrily as he looked at his shaking hands and the expanding pool of blood surrounding his partner’s body.

“John…?” Harold wheezed faintly.

“I’m here, Finch.” John leaned over so he could hear him better and so that Harold could see him without straining.

“Shhh… it’s alright,” Harold said weakly and coughed again, expelling even more blood from his mouth. “It’s alright…” Harold’s whole body shuddered and John gritted his teeth. He choked back a cry of anger and frustration. It was killing him to see his partner so near death and yet trying to comfort him with seemingly no concern for his own grave condition.

“I know, Finch, you’re going to be alright… I know you are.” He gently affixed the comforter tighter around Harold’s shoulders, noticing that it too was becoming heavy from Harold’s blood soaking into it from the floor it laid against. It made him want to retch.

“No, John…” Harold wheezed then coughed again with the effort. “You’ll be alright…” John looked at him in disbelief and let out an exasperated, strangled sound and took a deep breath to try and steady himself.

“Finch, just try and relax for me. Shaw’s going to be here really soon so you can’t give up, okay?” John wiped around Harold’s mouth again. He just couldn’t let the blood stay on his face; he wanted to sob in anguish, seeing so much of the crimson color staining his skin and clothing. “Hold on for me, please.” He beseeched him and tried not to think about Harold’s statement just now. The implication had hit him like a sledgehammer.

Harold nodded, wincing in pain as his breathing became even more shallow and raspy.

“He’s with me again, Shaw. Please hurry!” John stated.

“Hang on, John. Try and keep him conscious, we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Doctor Enright stated as Shaw blew through another stop light. “We have everything we’ll need to try and get him stabilized once we get there.”

John could hear the siren blaring through the line and swallowed hard. He prayed they would get there in time but his chest ached with fear as he witnessed more and more color draining from Harold’s features. “Just hurry _please_... he needs blood.” John answered almost bereft of hope. He shook himself again.

“Here, let’s get you turned just a little bit more, okay?” John helped Harold turn his body a fraction more onto his side so there would be a lesser chance of him choking if he spit up more blood. He looked at the bandaging and saw that it was doing the job for now.

The thought scared him as he considered whether the reason the blood had stopped was because of the bandages, or the fact that he had already lost so much of it.

John’s hands shook as he affixed the bandages with the tape.

“Listen, John. Do you have him on his stomach or on his side?” Doctor Enright asked quickly.

“He’s on his side. I just got the bandages on; the bleeding seems to have tapered off,” John stated anxiously.

“How is his heartrate?” Shaw interjected.

“His pulse is irratic Shaw; he’s seriously wounded and in shock for Christ’s sake!” John bit back angrily, “I’m sorry…” he quickly amended.

John knew he was going off the deep end. Never in his life had he been so out of the control of his emotions like this. Even after they’d lost Joss and he’d gone rogue and almost died, he’d had a better handle on himself.

“I’m sorry. His heartrate is irregular and his breathing is shallow, he's bottoming out, you have to get here… now.” John felt Harold’s carotid artery again and shook his head. “Please, get here,” he whispered.

“John, you’ve got to turn him onto the opposite side the injured lung is on.” Doctor Enright stated calmly. “It’s going to help his breathing and give us more time.”

 _Of course!_ John berated himself. If he’d been thinking clearly and in his right mind he’d have known to do that already, but taking so much time getting the bleeding under control had thrown his whole thinking out of whack.

He knew better and now he wondered if his oversight would be the one thing that would drive the final nail into Harold’s coffin.

“Keep him conscious John. We’re getting close,” Shaw stated and cut the line.

She knew that was all that John could do until they got there and didn’t want to distract him anymore with the line being open.

He needed to focus and do what he could for now and having them in on his attempt at conversation with Harold would only be a hindrance to him.

“Finch?” John leaned over Harold and looked into his face. Harold’s eyes were closed and his breathing was extremely concerning to him.

“Harold, I need you to hear me, okay? We need to move you onto your other side… it’s going to help you breathe.” He stated tenderly and as gently as he could, he pulled Harold’s upper body further away from the wall until he could lay him flat on his back... then have room to maneuver himself over to the other side of him.

John could hear the wet rattling sound in Harold’s chest as he desperately took short clipped breaths and unconsciously moaned when his body shifted position.

John felt tears stinging his eyes all the while he moved him.

“There now,” John choked out as he straightened Harold’s legs and quickly got on the opposite side of him. John worked as fast as he could and sweat poured down the sides of his face from the stress and effort.

Harold’s breathing had turned into a sickening gurgling sound as he lay supine until John pulled him back over towards him so that he was now laying on his left side, his bad side.

Harold coughed weakly and spit up more blood as the movement was completed.

John took a deep, shuddering breath and waited a moment to see what might happen with the bandaging now that there was a lot more pressure against it.

He again wiped the blood away from his partner’s face and checked the bandages. They seemed to hold after a handful of seconds. Now the most important thing to do was concentrate on getting Harold conscious and keeping him that way until help arrived.

“Finch…?” John leaned over and looked into his partner’s sallow face, “Finch, I need you to open your eyes now.” Harold made no indication that he heard John, his breathing was more and more concerning and bloody saliva continued to trickle from his lips. “Harold, please wake up…” John wiped his mouth tenderly, “Please…” he choked out and put his hand on Harold’s shoulder. He was still trembling beneath the covering and John squeezed gently, “Please…” he said again and waited anxiously as he held his hand there praying for a sign.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Harold opened his eyes sluggishly, “John…” he whispered with ensuing and inordinate difficulty. He was trying hard not to cough as every racking pressure of the action inside his chest cavity was excruciatingly painful and made it that much harder to take in air, “I can’t… breathe.”

 

“I know and I’m sorry,” John choked out, “But you have to keep trying; they’re close Finch.” He automatically wiped away the unrelenting blood that was still trickling from his partner’s mouth, “Shaw and the doctors are really close… just hang on a little longer… please.”

 

John knew it was an abysmal situation and it continued to eat away at him every everlasting second that went by. He looked at the time again. Fifteen agonizing minutes at most until they would be there and judgement would be rendered… before he would know whether he would have his partner to fight alongside once again… or not. If he could just keep Harold awake… “I’ll do whatever you need me too… if you’ll just hold on for me,” he added earnestly and squeezed Harold’s shoulder.

 

“The… shooter?” Harold asked softly. In his mind he knew the danger could still very well be present outside the windows and he was frightened for John.

 

He would never forgive himself if his compassionate partner put himself in harm’s way by having to look after him. “Where… are they?” he coughed again and winced from the tight heaviness in his chest; it felt like a great weight was sitting inside his rib-cage unyielding in it's intensity, pushing against it, overpowering him from the inside.

 

The pain in Harold’s back and into his hip as he was forced to lay on his left side was severe but he was used to a certain amount of it in everyday life and could take it for now. At present, nothing compared to the alarming awareness that pervaded all else. This sensation was different... he felt as if he couldn’t get a full breath of air into his lungs and if he had the strength in him to panic, he most definitely would.

 

Harold was slowly suffocating and the feeling was indescribable. He’d never experienced anything like it before. There was nothing he could do but try and hold on as long as he could and keep his own intense dread of asphyxiating subdued if possible… for John’s sake. He could plainly see, even in his severely distressed state, his partner was losing it emotionally.

 

“I’m not sure where the sniper is right now, Finch... but don’t worry about it; we’re out of his sight. If they’re still out there Fusco and Root are handling it.” John swallowed hard. He hadn’t heard anything from either one of them and now worried that there could still be a threat to the entire team as well as the civilians they were bringing in. But he didn’t want his partner to become distracted and fixate on anything other than keeping himself breathing and staying conscious.

 

Harold was getting lightheaded from the strain of trying to force his lungs to work. He could feel moisture coming up through his trachea and into the back of his throat with every pull and push of air through his overwrought system.

 

It was becoming increasingly harder to swallow and every breath he took, made him feel the urge to cough… and every cough stabbed him cruelly in the chest. He could hardly stand the vile metallic taste of iron on his tongue from the blood that coated the inside of his mouth.

 

The repulsive mix of bloody saliva was tricking from his lips continuously and he knew that it was a very bad sign. The last time he’d tasted that disgusting tang was the day his life had been painfully and forever altered and he prayed that this time would bring a different outcome. He would never wish John the same anguish he lived with every day… the heartache of having to live on while your beloved partner did not.

 

John’s phone alerted and he saw a text from Root. _“The Machine says that it’s all clear. Lionel and I are in route to catch our sniper friend and teach him a well-deserved lesson. Take care of Harold. She’s really worried about him.”_

 

“Finch, the sniper’s being taken care of.” John breathed a small sigh of relief. If his team mates didn’t make the sniper suffer and die then he would get his revenge later. “Now we just have to keep you in the fight until the cavalry arrives.” John fully covered his trembling partner, pulling the comforter over his midsection and down to his thighs, tucking the sodden bed-covering all around him. “Are you still with me?” He leaned in closer, “We’re in the clear.”

 

Harold smiled as well as he was able through the misery, “Good…” He hated the worry in John’s eyes.

 

Harold understood that he could die at any moment and his heart ached with the thought of John having to go on without him as he had had to do after Nathan’s loss. He looked into John’s eyes and hoped that help would arrive in time.

 

The man already blamed himself for everything and Harold knew that his partner might very well have his death to add to the pile of self-deprecation and hatred that encompassed John’s soul. He had to live through this… the alternative was too painful to contemplate.

 

If he could somehow convince himself he had a chance… maybe he could come close enough to believing it and have a chance to pull through.

 

“John…” Harold wheezed and coughed as his body trembled from the pain and the cold, it was torture but he had to try, “If I…” John cut him off immediately.

 

“Don’t talk, just listen,” John demanded, wiping away the blood again. “I can’t have you giving up.” He leaned in close and looked Harold in the eyes, “You’re going to make it, damn you. Do you understand me?” John was adamant, “I won’t lose you too… not again… not today.”

 

Harold could see the glistening in John’s eyes and smiled reassuringly, “Alright…” he answered softly.

 

John smiled back and sat upright again. He looked around the room, “I’ll be right back, don’t move.” He informed Finch and grinned when Harold gave him his most sardonic look, as if to say... _“Really?”_

 

He stood and hurried over the thermostat and turned it up as far as it would go, hoping it would work quickly to raise the temperature in the room.

 

In the closet he found two embroidered bath robes, two extra pillows and a blanket. He grabbed the robes and blanket and rushed back to his partner’s side.

 

“Finch…?” Harold had closed his eyes to better concentrate on his respiration and when he opened his eyes he saw that it had worried John.

 

“I’m still… here,” he whispered and smiled faintly.

 

“I’m going to change this out,” John said as he took the top of the comforter in his hand and indicated what his plan was. “I want to check on the bandage too while I’m at it, you can’t afford to lose any more blood.” The rattling in Harold’s chest seemed a little better since he’d changed the position of his body.

 

John only wished he could do more to help his partner’s breathing and the painful fits of coughing that had developed.

 

The bottom part of the comforter was wet and sticky with Harold’s blood and it weighed heavily in John’s hands. He had hated the idea of his gentle partner having ever been covered with it, but it was what had to be at the time and he couldn’t let it bother him anymore.

 

It was absolutely essential now, and the only thing he could try to do. He needed to get Harold warmed up as much as possible to help with the shock his body was undergoing.

 

It was leeching most of Harold’s strength from him. If he could get a better handle on his shaking, he would have a much better chance and more fight in him for everything else.

 

Harold nodded slightly when he thought he was ready for John to change out the covering. Neither one of them were ready for the repercussions when John pulled the blood soiled comforter away.


	8. Chapter 8

In an instant the cool temperature of the room overwhelmed him, sending Harold’s entire body into violent tremors of agony. The intense distress very nearly sent him toppling over the edge of consciousness and into oblivion. 

A blinding flash of stars exploded behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut tightly against the shocking sensation of pain. All he could do was try to ride it out, as hopeless as it seemed.

“Jesus, Finch!” John exclaimed in alarm, “I’m so sorry.” He was holding Harold’s quaking shoulders firmly in his hands in effort to hold him as still as he could to mitigate further injury. 

John was kicking himself. What in the hell had he been thinking? He should have known better than to remove the only means by which Harold had any warmth being delivered to him… as insufficient as it was. 

John had hurriedly looked over the bandaging on Harold’s back before throwing one of the bathrobes over him to cover his upper body, followed by the second one for his hips and legs, and then the thick blanket over his entire shuddering form. 

He tucked the edges of the coverings around his suffering partner, recoiling at the sight of Harold’s lifeblood already being absorbed from the floor and soaking into the material. 

John finished cocooning him inside the layers to the best of his ability and hoped it would be enough. He had determined that the bandages were still helping for now to keep the bleeding to a minimum, but the grisly crimson color was slowly beginning to spread and seep through the thick dressing. 

He couldn’t worry about that now though; he had to concentrate on keeping Harold in the battle for survival. 

John watched Harold’s body still shuddering, it was almost as if he had been plunged into an ice bath.

He had seen the goosebumps covering every inch of exposed flesh when the comforter came off and he felt a twinge of pain in his chest from the extreme reaction he unwittingly prompted. “God, Finch. I’m so sorry.” John murmured again and again as he ran his hand over his quaking shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

In the few seconds it had taken for John to look over the site of the injury and re-cover him, Harold felt consciousness being pulled away from him. He was vaguely aware that John was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words over the high pitched ringing in his ears. It was overlaid with the sound of blood rushing through his head causing a discomfiting throbbing sensation behind his eyes. 

The ensuing agony had almost entirely consumed his consciousness and he was quickly losing the fight to stay cognizant. 

John could see that Harold couldn’t breathe at the moment and he felt himself holding his own breath sympathetically. He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head unconsciously, lamenting the brutality of his partner’s terrible condition.

“Hang on, Finch.” John caressed Harold’s cheek, trying to give him something tangible to focus on, trying to drive away his misery… his constant and endless pain and suffering. “Keep fighting it… please.”

The freezing coldness he was experiencing and the inability to get any air into lungs obliterated all else for what seemed a lifetime. 

He was robbed of the ability to think or to breathe while his system fought to right itself against the onslaught of sensation that had attacked it so swiftly. 

His blood pressure spiked dangerously while the reactions of his nervous system hit a new level of agony. As he lay there shivering, he almost choked on his own blood as his body’s involuntary responses finally, at long last took over. He lay there gasping and wheezing instinctively, struggling to breathe again. 

John was disconsolate, kicking himself for his stupidity as he watched and prayed that his partner could soon get his respiratory system under control.

He couldn’t allow there to be any more mistakes. He could see it in Harold’s colorless face as he laid there fighting desperately for every shallow breath he could pull.

He looked at the time again, ten minutes to go… it might as well be a lifetime. There was no doubt in John’s mind. If Harold couldn’t hurry up and get his breathing under control or was exposed to any more trauma whatsoever in his grim condition, and if Shaw didn’t arrive right away… Harold was going to die. 

“You can do it, Finch. I know you can.” John tried to comfort both of them with his words but was falling short. 

He could feel it wasn’t enough anymore as Harold’s body continued to shake hard under his hands while his breaths were still shallow and irregular. John’s heart was breaking and he was angry that there was nothing he could think of to help.

Harold forced his eyes open and looked at John through his shaky vision, trying to focus on his beloved anchor, trying as hard as he could to stay alive.

The persistent rush of blood still pounded in his ears and the bitter chill continued to assault his senses without mercy. 

He was powerless to stop his body’s aggressive reactions and he had to clench his jaw shut tightly in effort to keep his teeth from chattering so hard he thought they might break in his mouth. 

“I… don’t know… how… much longer…I can… do this…” Harold slurred exhaustedly, still trembling and too weak to speak at normal volume. The rattling in his chest was becoming an issue again and he was vaguely aware that John was still wiping the bloody saliva that continued to dribble from his mouth.

Harold was so lightheaded from lack of oxygen in his blood he was sure he would either pass out or die at any moment. 

His heart was beating out of his chest and he was terrified that this was it, that John was going to have to witness and endure his death now too. This would break him and he tried to shake the terrible image of his partner’s demise trying to force its way into his overtaxed mind. 

Harold was afraid he had no control over it now. He was losing his battle for life and John would then have to fight his own war alone. Harold wasn’t so sure that John would even attempt to prevail without him and he was terrified that it would be a forgone conclusion if that happened.

John shook his head, “You have to try, Finch. Shaw is going to be here any minute, you have to hang on.” John could barely speak as he watched anxiously and full of dread. “Please…”

It was out of either of their control. John ran his hand tenderly over Harold’s disheveled hair and again felt his heart constrict as Harold closed his eyes and gasped for every impossible fraction of air.

“Please, Harold…” John’s eyes welled up and spilled over, “Please…”


	9. Chapter 9

Harold began to gasp uncontrollably and John was barely holding himself together hearing the liquid that was filling Harold’s lungs making it almost impossible for him to inhale. Then the wet rattling sound turned into a coughing fit, painful and desperate and he couldn’t seem to stop it when an alarming quantity of bloody froth spilled from his mouth.

John watched in shock, resting his hand on his partner’s trembling shoulder as the gruesome liquid continued to trickle through his lips.

“Let it out Finch, let it all out.” He encouraged him earnestly but then something seemed to change and John wasn’t sure what it was until he saw it in his partner’s face.

It was hopeless and Harold suddenly felt a new wave of panic rising up and engulfing him as the fluid in his lungs finally overtook and filled the small amount of space that had been left for respiration. He couldn’t inhale or exhale at all now and alarm and despair consumed him. This was it, he knew it in his heart and it hurt on every level.

Wide terrified eyes locked on to John’s own anxious ones and Harold reflexively tried to reach out to him, he wanted to touch John once more before the end but he was immobilized by the coverings that were restraining his limbs. He struggled uncontrollably on the floor, impulsively and ineffectually fighting to breathe while his body began to weaken.

“Harold, no! Oh God…” John could do nothing for his terrified partner but uncover him quickly and free his arms. He caught Harold’s flailing hand and latched onto the fisting appendage, feeling surprising strength in the deft fingers desperately clutching his own. He could see what was happening, Harold couldn’t get any air now and he wanted to scream his outrage and despair as he was being forced to watch everything his tormented partner was being put through.

John, was convinced… somehow he just knew that what Harold was having to endure had nothing to do with anything he’d done. The suffering Harold was undergoing… the unfairness of the pain and misery being inflicted on his benevolent partner had been orchestrated as John’s punishment for every poor decision and misstep he’d ever taken in his life. Harold was being made to atone for the mistakes that he had made and that cruel fate couldn’t have been made any worse for him than to have to witness it without having the power to alleviate it or to intervene. Rage unfurled in him and it was eating him alive, he wished with all his heart that he could shoulder Harold’s unending pain and misery himself instead.  
#

Harold could feel his face and body flush with heat from the intense distress it was being put through and he helplessly began to suffocate. Nothing was getting through now, not the slightest bit of air. He could vividly and agonizingly feel the very last of his energy and awareness draining from him until there was virtually nothing left.

He was terrified at first but was quickly becoming acquiescent and resolved as his organs began to shut down. He’d done his best, fought as hard as he could, for as long as he could… but it wasn't enough anymore.

His mind was tired and his body was through struggling. His eyes closed of their own accord and he slowly started to feel light somehow. Everything was calming down and becoming distant. It was as if he was suddenly untethered and set free from his existence and rising above… floating away from his body.  
And he was content to be free of it… to let it go at last.  
#

“Please, don’t go…” John wept quietly while he stroked Harold’s hand, “Stay with me, Finch… please, stay.”

There was a palpable sadness and lamentation Harold could hear vaguely, on his periphery. He wasn’t aware of what was being said, only the cadence of someone who was obviously experiencing profound grief.

For a transitory moment, Harold felt pity for whoever was mourning until that emotion quickly faded to be replaced with an all-encompassing peacefulness throughout his entire being. And then, unbidden and with great sorrow, the last conscious image presented itself.

The sight of his beloved friend and partner kneeling next to his unresponsive body in total desolation, imprinted itself into his mind’s eye and now he knew who was so struck with grief. The scene left him praying until the very end. _“Please help him get through this… Please let him live.”_

Harold’s mind swiftly began to fade and went devoid of any more thought or sensation and he watched from above as his entire body completely relaxed and went utterly still.

It was too much for John, he didn’t know what to do when Harold closed his eyes and stopped breathing. “No!” He wailed, “Please God… no!”

He quickly turned Harold’s body to lay flat on his back and yanked the coverings down to his waist. “You can’t do this, Finch!” John frantically put his ear against Harold’s chest and heard nothing.

He sat up urgently and was just about to begin CPR when the door flew open abruptly and Shaw, followed by Doctor Enright, rushed in with a gurney loaded down with emergency medical supplies.

John’s heart leapt to his throat, “Hurry!” he demanded passionately, “He’s stopped breathing!”

John moved to the top of Harold’s body and put his hands on either side of Harold’s head while Shaw and Enright rushed over.

“Here!” Shaw pushed an ambu-bag into John’s hands and Doctor Enright quickly got down beside Harold on the floor and pulled his blood soiled shirt open, exposing his chest and torso.

The sickening stains of blood on Harold’s pale skin turned John’s stomach. Maddie put her stethoscope against his chest and moved it around quickly, searching for any sound whatsoever while Shaw hurried to put sterile gloves on.

“His lungs are full; it won’t help!” John exclaimed angrily. “God damn it, Shaw!” John knew he was flying off the handle but he couldn’t help himself, “Do something! Hurry!”

“I need the cleaning solution, stat!” Doctor Enright hurriedly put her own gloves on and Shaw handed her the antiseptic as well as a hand full of gauze while she pointedly disregarded John’s heated outburst.

Shaw was used to her teammate becoming overly emotional when it came to Harold. She couldn't blame him though. Harold was their captain, their leader in every way and she would feel the same way if it were her being made to watch it happen helplessly.

John had suddenly gone quiet and was in a state shock as he watched the doctor go to work on his partner. “John…?” Maddie turned to him calmly and he blinked and shook himself out of his daze and looked at her. “I need you to focus and remain calm.” She smiled at him reassuringly for a moment, then poured some antiseptic into the gauze.

The gentleness of doctor Enright’s request threatened to make something break in John’s chest and he could feel a painful lump form in the back of his throat. He nodded at her numbly, not trusting his voice and took a deep breath.

He watched as she wiped along a large section of Harold’s side in preparation for the next step.

Then something dark and nauseating clicked in John’s mind and made him feel a terrible pang of guilt. While he was able to take that deep breath, Harold had been unable to take his own for more than twenty minutes now.

He thought about it punishingly. The worst thing about it for him, the thing that clicked and reared it's ugly head, was the fact that more than likely Harold would never be able to take his own breath again.

For all intents and purposes his partner was lying there dead in front of him and John felt his loss profoundly.


	10. Chapter 10

John choked back his tears as he watched the two women take complete control of the situation and go to work on his partner swiftly, with expert efficiency. Harold was lifeless, his essence was absent from his body and John feared it was already too late.

He wished he could feel relief from the presence of Shaw and doctor Enright. He wished that he could stop the negative thoughts that were pervading his mind and forcing their way into his heart but he’d been through this too many times to get his hopes up. He’d seen too many people lose their fight for survival and were struck down without mercy. This time was no different. Harold had fought valiantly, given everything he’d had until there was nothing left and it wasn't enough anymore. Now, John had lost all motivation for himself to go on now too.

Harold was dead and once again, John’s whole world had been turned upside and he was without hope. The visage and the truth of Harold’s tragic ending would soon overwhelm him and take him to the depths of despair. He wouldn’t care anymore, there would be nothing left for him without his anchor to tether him to the world and he would soon follow Harold… wherever that path may lead.

John was numb when he distantly heard Shaw talking to Doctor Megan Tillman on her cell phone and snapped out of his daze, trying to catch up and discern what she was saying.

“Yes, the house on Jefferson. We need the OR prepped for severe trauma immediately, the bullet must have perforated one or both of his lungs… he’s not breathing right now.” Even though John was painfully aware of the situation, he recoiled as if he’d been physically struck when Shaw said those words out loud and his head began to spin.

Shaw paused for a moment and leaned down to see how far along Maddie was in prepping Harold for a chest tube to drain off the liquid in and around his lungs. 

It was essential that they make room for oxygen as soon as possible so they could get him breathing again and mitigate the damage. They had to bring him back and stabilize him for transport.

Shaw was prepared to hand off a small scalpel to doctor Enright as soon as she was ready to make the preliminary incision as she continued with Megan, “Yes, the works… he’s lost a hell of a lot of blood. He’s in bad shape. Enright is getting ready to insert the chest tube. If we can get him back we’ll need to be ready for anything once we get there; the blood is labeled… we’re probably going to need it all.”

John watched with unease as Maddie pressed her fingers into Harold’s side, along his ribcage. He saw her lips moving unconsciously as she counted the ribs and then stopped and held her thumb to the site she would make the incision. 

“John, I need you to get under him and elevate his shoulders a bit.” John looked at her terrified, “I need you to do it now, alright?” Maddie smiled at him compassionately but with urgency.

“What about his neck?” he asked anxiously.

Shaw grabbed a pillow wedge off the gurney and handed it to John hurriedly while she held Megan on the phone, and watched for doctor Enright’s signal. 

John quickly sat Indian style on the floor at Harold’s head and put the wedge in his lap. 

He put hands underneath his partner’s shoulder blades, and as gently as he could, John pulled Harold’s limp body towards him until his upper body and head lay at a slightly elevated angle. 

He ran his shaky hand over Harold’s soft, spiky hair and tears welled in his eyes. The heaviness in John’s chest hurt as he looked down at his partner, so still and so silent… his heart was breaking.

“Good…” Maddie stated optimistically, “Now that’s going to help with draining off the fluid faster and help alleviate some of the pressure from his ribcage once we get him breathing again. It should be a little easier on him in the long run.” 

John appreciated the doctor’s faith in what she was doing but Harold had stopped breathing over a minute ago and John knew that with each passing second the chances of survival, if they even got him breathing again, would still be a long shot. 

Maddie raised her hand without ever looking away from Harold’s body, “Scalpel please.” 

Shaw carefully delivered the razor sharp instrument to her open hand like a pro. 

She looked at John apologetically, “This is going to be messy but we don’t have time to do it any other way.” Maddie found the placement and made a small cut into Harold’s side. 

“How long ago did he stop breathing?” Enright asked John, trying to get him focused, and raised her hand again, “Kelly clamp,” she said and Shaw put the pointed scissor-like implement into her hand.

John cleared his throat and watched, transfixed. He was amazed that there wasn’t more blood from the initial cut, “A few seconds before you came in,” he replied uneasily, “it’s been well over a minute, probably closer to two,” he replied anxiously and quickly averted his eyes as Maddie inserted the pointed clamp into the small incision and started to cut into Harold’s body.

When she inserted the clamp the blood that had been slow initially began to flow more readily and John started to feel sick. 

He tried to detach himself from the surreal scene of his partner lying there dead, bleeding freely, while a doctor dug around in his body. 

John pulled from everything he’d ever learned in the field to try to distance himself emotionally from the harsh reality of what he had to watch and participate in, but it only lasted a few seconds before he was brutally pulled back into the nightmarish reality again. 

If it were anyone else lying there he may have stood a chance of not being an emotional wreck… but this was Harold and he was shattered.

“Okay, Sameen. I’m just about ready.” Maddie was tremendously sympathetic for what John had been put through already but she didn’t have time to coddle him. 

She had a man’s life in her hands, and not just any man, a man who had not only saved her life… but also the life of the woman she loves. 

She owes Harold and his partner the world and she would make damn sure that she tried everything in her power to bring him back. There were countless other people Harold and John could help in the future and she set herself to making that eventuality possible. 

“Sameen, I’m going to have to go in blind. We can’t afford to wait before we evacuate his lungs. He needs oxygen now, agreed?” 

“Agreed.” Shaw wasted no time with her answer and got the plastic tube and pump ready to be inserted inside Harold’s chest cavity to remove the fluid buildup so they could resuscitate and get him breathing again. 

They all knew how vital the timing was for Harold now. If he didn’t get oxygen pumping back into his system immediately, he could face permanent organ failure and or brain damage among a whole host of other terrible possibilities. 

Both John and Shaw knew that Harold would rather they let him die than have to be dependent on machines to keep him alive. The two men had a prior agreement put into place should the situation ever present itself and had talked to Shaw and Root soon after they had become regular members of the team.

Shaw lowered the gurney and had everything ready to go as soon as Maddie made the call.

“John, when I say the word, you’re going to ventilate him, got it?” Enright looked into John’s unsure eyes and smiled at him encouragingly. “Okay?”

John nodded and took a deep breath. This was something he’d had experience with. He could do it, but he was extremely nervous about it. This was Harold after all and he couldn’t let him down. He was resolved that he would not let him down again… not ever.  
John took another calming breath and waited anxiously for Maddie’s command…


	11. Chapter 11

“Alright, I’m ready for the chest tube.” Maddie placed the sharp instruments off to the side and Shaw handed her the plastic tube that was attached to a small pump and a clear plastic container.

Blood seemed to pour out of Harold’s side like a sieve until the doctor began the procedure and John had to turn away and avert his eyes.

His heart ached from the sight of aftermath of violence that should never have touched his gentle partner.

“I’m almost ready for the suture.” Doctor Enright quickly but carefully inserted the tubing into the incision she’d made. She angled it between two of Harold’s ribs and pushed it in slowly, until a ghastly mix of blood and other fluid began to make its way through the tubing and into the container.

“Good… that’s good,” Enright remarked as she observed the flow and quickly adjusted the setting on the pump.

“Get ready, John,” Shaw prompted him as she watched the proceedings calmly.

She and doctor Enright had discussed what they would assign to the former agent before they arrived on scene.

Both women knew instinctively that John had to be involved in saving Harold; he had to be an integral part of bringing him back.

It was clear that he felt responsible for his partner’s condition and they wanted to give him the release he desperately needed for his own piece of mind… it was obvious he needed it.

“John… as soon as we’ve drained enough fluid I want you to start feeding him oxygen.” Maddie took the surgical needle from Shaw and stitched around the entry point of the tubing as Shaw readied the tape that would secure it into place.

Doctor Enright prepared for the next step and met John’s eyes intently. “When I tell you to, I want you to squeeze the bag firmly. You’re going to breathe for him until he can do it on his own.”

John nodded and took a deep breath. “ _Please, God_ ,” he prayed silently.

“You’re going to go nice and evenly,” she stated calmly as she took the tape from Shaw and applied it around the site.

Shaw moved around and knelt down on the other side of Harold to get ready to assist where she would be needed.

She looked at John pointedly while Maddie finished up. “He’s probably going to convulse when he comes to, so don’t freak out,” she explained evenly. “We’ll keep him as still as we can so he doesn’t jostle his neck until his body calms down… got it?”

He nodded at her in reply and Shaw could plainly see the dejected expression on his face. “John,” she said calmly but emphatically, “We haven’t lost him yet… don’t give up, trust me.”

It was at times like these that she wished she could show a little compassion or sympathy to her teammates, but she just wasn’t wired that way and hoped that she had gotten through to him that Harold still had a chance, even though it seemed hopeless at the moment.

Sameen had never in her life been able to let her 'emotions' show. She did have feelings, they were just buried so deep inside that she was pretty sure they’d never be unearthed.

“Alright, it’s time we get our friend back.” Doctor Enright looked at John, “Give him two full inflations of air now.”

Shaw held the mask firmly over Harold’s nose and mouth and John squeezed the bag fully once and then a second time as he was instructed to do. They all watched Harold’s pale chest rise and fall mechanically with no result before doctor Enright began doing chest compression's.

John cringed as Maddie started pressing diligently, counting as she pumped with both hands against Harold’s chest.

He looked at the container that held the grotesque liquid that was still trickling steadily from Harold’s chest cavity. It was almost full and John could only imagine what it must have been like for his partner trying to get any air into his lungs for all that time.

“Twenty-nine, thirty.” The doctor placed her stethoscope against Harold’s chest and shook her head. “We have to go again, John,” she stated and looked at Shaw.

John squeezed the bag twice more and waited impatiently for some sign of life from his partner.

He felt overwhelming dread creeping into him again as Harold lay there so still and unresponsive and he fought back the disquiet with every agonizing second that ticked by.

Maddie started the compressions again and John could see the concern creeping into Shaw’s face now too as she watched Harold, hoping for some kind of reaction to the ministrations being applied to his rapidly cooling body.

The doctor stopped at thirty and was visibly winded as she put her stethoscope against Harold’s chest once more. “And again…” she ordered and looked at Shaw purposely this time.

Sameen understood the unspoken concern in Maddie’s eyes as the stalwart doctor began the third repetition of compressions.

John’s heart was breaking. It wasn’t working. For all of the optimistic encouragement that had been shown to him by the two women trying to help his partner, it wasn’t working and he suddenly understood that this was really happening… again.

He had witnessed Harold’s last breath and the reality came crashing down on him with dizzying and nauseating clarity. Once again he had failed to save someone he loved and once again it was his fault.

John zoned out, only hearing the doctor counting out loud nebulously as she continued to work on Harold’s still and lifeless body.

He was numb to his surroundings as he knelt there, removed from his own body and in some sort of horrible dream state.

“John! Wake up… concentrate on my voice!” Shaw was enraged and she didn’t care who knew it. “Snap out of it!

John was confused, but more than that he was angry. He shook himself from the daze that had taken hold of him and looked at Shaw, who had somehow changed positions with the doctor without him even realizing it.

“Two more now!” Shaw shouted at him as Maddie now held the mask against Harold’s face.

John did as he was told and watched Shaw begin her own attempt at reviving Harold.

As soon as she had reached eighteen, they all watched in astonishment as Harold’s eyes flew open and his body suddenly seized as he came back into it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama continues...

“Hold his head still!” Shaw ordered irritably.

“I’ll get the IV’s ready.” Doctor Enright quickly moved to the gurney to get the necessary supplies in order.

Harold’s eyes opened and he took a sudden deep breath while his vision instantly filled with a myriad of scenes from the past.

In a matter of second’s, intoxicating and intensely vivid memories from his life all compressed and merged into a kaleidoscope of images and sensation. He saw the faces of people he loved both alive and dead swirling and colliding into each other, making his head spin in a nauseating array of motion. He felt sick from the wave of movement as the scenes spun at unnatural speed until they finally began to fade and were replaced with the harsh reality of the present.

He looked up at Sameen leaning over him and compressing his chest and his memory began to come back to him as she stopped.

“Hang on, Finch.” Shaw encouraged him, while she and John helped keep Harold’s upper torso pinned to the floor; his whole body convulsed for what had seemed like ages before beginning to assuage in intensity.

The tremors of shock still running throughout his system were dissipating enough that they could let their hold on him go, and relax without fear of him exasperating his neck injury further.

John placed his hand on Harold’s shoulder, “It’s alright now, Finch… you’re going to be alright.” As John said the words, he felt like he was telling his partner a lie.

Harold was in an awful state and John had a hard time believing that he would pull through. He felt a pang in his heart and was ashamed of himself for his pessimism… but he’d seen people in much better shape than Harold was in right now lose their fight and succumb to death.

After the initial sudden shock of re-entering his body and the visions he’d seen, Harold underwent a plethora of severe pain and discomfort while his body shuddered uncontrollably for many long moments of pure agony.

The irrepressible movement racked his entire body and sent sharp stabbing pain into the back of his neck and down into his lower back. The metal inside him, attached to his bones and keeping him together, was being torqued against the mounts in his skeletal frame causing his head to pound with the intensity of the pain.

He couldn’t think or remember anything anymore as the horrendous painful condition took hold and seemed as if it would never end.

“We’re going to start you on a unit of blood and some fluids, so we can stabilize you enough to move to the safe house,” Shaw announced. “Megan is there getting everything ready for our arrival. So buck up, Harold.” Shaw actually managed a smile and a squeeze of encouragement to his hand when she finished her statement and busied herself with helping Maddie prepare the IV’s.

Harold didn’t really hear a word Shaw had said as his world slowly came back into view.

He was confused “Joh…” he tried to whisper weakly, finding it almost impossible to form words. He was extremely dehydrated and tried to swallow to coat the inside of his parched mouth, but had no saliva in which to do so and his tongue and throat was just as dry.

“Harold, don’t try to talk,” John began anxiously, “Just let them get you hooked up.” He could see how disoriented and how much pain Harold was in and wished he could offer him some relief, but couldn’t do anything to help.

He felt useless and hopeless… but more than any of that… John felt worthless as he watched his partner try and speak.

Harold was tremendously weak now as he looked up at the unease in John’s face and tried his best to give his partner some reassurance, but couldn’t pull it off. Then he remembered the circumstances of their predicament just before his memory faded.

The thing that pervaded Harold’s mind now was… what had happened with the person that had shot him? As far as he remembered they were still out there posing a threat to every one of them. He tried again, “The… shooter?” he rasped weakly and felt panic rising in him from the thought.

“They’re being dealt with Harold. Don’t worry about them; they’re no longer a threat to us.” John’s words dripped venom, but he couldn’t allow himself to think right now about what he wanted to do to the low-life that had nearly killed Harold.

And his partner was still far from out of the woods. As it stood right now, there was a real chance that Harold could still perish from complications of his wound before they ever even got him out of this God-forsaken room and die a second and permanent death.

“Harold?” Doctor Enright leaned into his line of sight, “How’s the pain?” she asked as she cut up the sleeve of Harold’s shirt to find a vein to start the IV for blood. The sickening, rattling sound that could be heard from Harold’s chest was highly concerning… but all they could do was keep draining his lungs so he could breathe enough to keep him going.

Shaw had changed out the first cylinder of gruesome fluid that came from Harold’s chest and was now readying the bags while listening intently.

She was already thinking about her own ideas of retribution on the asshole that did this to Harold. If Root and Fusco didn’t get to the guy first, she knew that she and John would take care of him later. She hoped that would be the case. She would enjoy making the bastard pay and she was sure John felt the same way… only more so.

Harold couldn’t really feel any pain now but for the heaviness in his chest and the normal chronic pain of his existing injuries. He couldn’t even feel the wound in his back but he couldn’t seem to stay lucid as the flurry of activity moved around him making his head spin again. He found himself zoning in and out of awareness, unable to latch onto the present.

“Harold?” John squeezed his partner’s shoulder; he could see that Harold wasn’t able to focus on anything and tried to give him something tangible to hold onto while he was being treated and attended to.

 _“I’m… here.”_ He wanted to say but couldn’t speak and was losing himself, becoming untethered. In his mind he could feel himself being tugged at. He desperately tried to find that familiar voice that was speaking to him but found he couldn’t see through the haze enveloping around him… dragging him under.

“Harold, concentrate on my voice. You can do this.” John felt horrible as he watched the most brilliant and gentle man he’d ever known lose his grasp on reality and peer around the room indistinctly.

The heart monitor that Maddie had hooked up to him began to sound an alarm as John watched him lose consciousness and felt his heart sink once more.


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m not going to sugar coat this John, Harold’s in deep shit,” Shaw stated over the heart monitor alarm as she handed the first IV line for blood to doctor Enright.

“I get that Shaw!” John retorted angrily, “Just keep him breathing for Christ sake!”

Harold laid there, motionless, while his breathing had gone shallow and erratic. John was close to having a mental breakdown as there was nothing he could do to help at the moment. He placed his hands on each of Harold’s shoulders and regarded his partner’s ashen appearance, praying silently for him to come through this nightmare alive.

Maddie kept her head down and concentrated on her own task of trying to find a vein in Harold’s arm. She could feel the pressure in the air palpably. The horrific despair of the situation was fraying everyone’s nerves as the tension in the room mounted.

“He’s breathing for now,” Shaw replied calmly and went about preparing to hook up the other IV line. “We just have to keep doing what we can to stabilize him.” She looked at John pointedly, “There’s no guarantee he’s going to make it.” She shook her head in frustration and looked at her friend and leader, lying there unconscious and struggling for life, “But if anyone can do it, I know he can.” She cut up the sleeve of Harold’s other arm to prepare the placement for the second input line.

Doctor Enright was grateful that Sameen was taking the lead in communicating with her colleague. John was a wreck and she didn’t know him enough personally to feel comfortable interacting with him half as well as she did his partner… and she was extremely uneasy and unsure about Harold’s chances after examining him.

Not only was blood loss a major factor, but Harold’s whole nervous system could have been adversely effected when he’d stopped breathing and his organs began to shut down.

The trauma that his body had been subjected to could very well have started his system on the road to renal failure and more. Secretly the doctor was having her own doubts with his chances of surviving as the time drew on.

“What’s taking so long?” John asked the doctor anxiously as she continued to try to find a vein in Harold’s arm.

“His veins have collapsed.” She looked at Shaw, “we’ll have to go in through his hands.”

Shaw nodded and John’s stomach roiled as he watched the two of them trying to find a viable route in through the tops of his partner’s hands in which to insert the IV’s.

“Got it!” Maddie exclaimed and turned to the IV pump for the whole blood supply.

“Come on Finch…” Shaw was having a harder time of it, “Damn it!” she exclaimed irritably then calmed down and tried again.

John was quiet. He watched nervously as the doctor started the blood supply and adjusted the output control while Shaw continued to have difficulty in finding access into Harold’s bloodstream.

“There… finally,” she stated evenly and nodded to Maddie to start her side of the IV pump.

John sat forward as Harold began to stir and sluggishly opened his eyes. He leaned into his line of sight to try to reassure him and attempted a casual smile, “You’re back, Finch,” John remarked as steadily as he could but feeling like he was on a rollercoaster plummeting into the abyss.

Harold looked up at him and John saw in his partner’s face the moment the pain and discomfort came back in on him in spades. He groaned and made to move his right arm but the doctor held it firmly in place.

Shaw leaned in, “We’re still trying to stabilize you, Harold. Try and relax.”

John watched the doctor pull something into a syringe. _‘For the pain,’_ he imagined and didn’t bother to ask her what it was when she injected it into Harold's arm.

Once again Harold tried to swallow and winced, unable to speak through his dry throat. He had an awful taste in his mouth from what had come up and looked at John, begging him with his eyes. John immediately knew what he was asking for.

“He wants something to drink,” he stated intently and looked at Maddie.

“His lungs aren’t evacuated yet; we shouldn’t add any more fluid by mouth.” She looked down at Harold sympathetically, “I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t risk it.”

Harold was crestfallen. He wasn’t sure exactly what had been said through the haze in his mind but the connotation of the words were clear. All he wanted right now was some moisture to sooth his unbearable thirst and by all indications, he wouldn’t be receiving any.

John watched his partner’s eyes begin to well up as he lay there so helpless and suffering in almost every way imaginable, not even having the capacity to speak and his heart ached for him.

“Is there any ice?” Maddie asked gently.

John looked at her for an instant before springing from the floor to sprint to the butler’s pantry. He retrieved a bucket and filled it partially with ice from the small freezer. “Finch.” He sat down, prompting his partner earnestly, “Are you sure you’re not going to pass out again?”

Through the pain and the haze of his awareness, Harold heard and grasped John’s sincere question. He locked on to John’s gaze and tried to laugh. He couldn’t achieve the task so he smirked as best he could and nodded slightly instead.

He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t lose consciousness again at any moment of course; he had no control whatsoever on how his body was reacting but he was unbearably thirsty and would agree to anything at this point to have something to wet his mouth with.

“Help me raise him up some so he doesn’t choke,” John requested.

Maddie nodded and Shaw put her arm under Harold’s neck and shoulders and lifted his upper body gently. John helped hold Harold’s position up and put a small ice cube to his partner’s lips.

Harold opened his mouth and relished the cold moisture on his tongue, dampening the abhorrent dryness there. Nothing in his life had ever tasted so good. He closed his eyes and breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

John was thrilled he could give his partner some respite however small it was and found a smile come to his own face in seeing the expression on Harold’s, as brief as it would be.

“We really need to get him moved onto the gurney now, we can raise his upper body up some from there,” Doctor Enright replied. “Then I can get a better look at things and we can get him ready to go.”

“We have the IV’s set now, let’s do this,” Shaw added keenly. “John you’re at his head.”

Shaw quickly helped Maddie remove everything from the gurney in preparation to move Harold.

Shaw locked on to Harold’s unfocused gaze. “Finch.” She leaned in closer to better gage his awareness and he narrowed his eyebrows and blinked up at her dazedly. “Are you ready to get out of this shithole?” She asked bluntly. “I’m afraid this is not going to be pleasant for you.”

It took a few long moments but Harold finally nodded to her in understanding. In his mind things were moving listlessly, almost as everything around him was moving at half speed.

His hearing was effected similarly and he had to concentrate on the sounds and voices around him to decipher what was being said, and then only partially was he able to understand the words. It took tremendous effort but with great determination, he was able to latch on and parse what was being said through the shock he was still undergoing.

Maddie aligned the gurney and everyone got into position. “Take a breath Harold… this is going to hurt.” Shaw looked at John and Maddie in turn and nodded before they all began to lift Harold in unison.


End file.
